it is not a question anymore
of whether i am in or out
or whether i am acceptable
or disgusting
it is the passion that works now
automated,
it does not consider anything
outside itself
it is burning to eternity
it lights
and whatever darkness is there
it disappears
and those who had seen what is happening
within
and of course no one really bothers
simply considers it as
a form of routine
something that must be discarded because it can be the source
of envy
as
imagine, this, as other lights face
and die
as the darkness of their hearts win
you continue to shine
glossy in the universe
like a new born galaxy
whirling faster away from them
who until now
cannot understand or
simply refuse to because they do not have it
there is no inkling
nothing to speak
out there new stars come out
exploding
ordinary men continue
to tarry on what is not important
like building a house for their future
when it is not there yet
where is it? it is here
that is the perfect hint so far.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem